TheBanyanTree: SOME PART OF "I AM A BAD MOTHER"

[Sharon Mack]

SOME PART OF "I AM A BAD MOTHER"

These thoughts, this story, does not come easy.  You see, my brain does not
always go in chronological order, especially if it's manic-ing or between a
manic and a depressive state. 

Depression is easy, though...it's all the black thoughts plunked down in the
black hole of your brain.  I think it's on the right side for me since I am
a right-y.  This thought feels correct to me.  You see, this way the hole is
easily reached, and I can pull the deep low down thoughts out along with
some black muck, and think them inside my balled up crying-jag state.  

But then when the thoughts begin to lighten and I am allowed to once again
stretch the tight elbow, the bended knee, and the crimped neck, I know that
manic is on the way.  I see light and air.  I see between the lines. Dust
filtering between the shafts of yellow.  I can write a poem, clean my house,
do laundry, I can smell things, I can cook.  And then, at last, the mania
takes over and I am visibly revved.  Ready to fly, ready to do anything.
Take on any job, take on all the jobs, everyone's jobs.  I am super mom,
super friend, super worker, and back in the day, super sexed-up super wife
and/or lover/girlfriend.  I love the manic days.  I love to fly...and fly I
do.  And boy, do I talk, and talk, and talk, and talk.  I say all good
things, of course.  I have an answer to every problem, to every prayer.  I
am the problem-solver of all time.  This is the time on my job when I earn
accolades and merit raises.  I fly...and I love to fly.  My brain is light,
my brain is good, and my brain is functioning like a good brain should.  Ah,
it's great to be alive...

...but inside, where I really, really live, I know that this is the
dangerous time and I also know I better get it under control, but I don't.
I let it run its course, and weep when it's over.  The loss is like a death
and I mourn it.

*******************************************

When I was fourteen, my mother had her third (or fourth) "nervous
breakdown."  That's what they called it back in the day.  Nervous breakdown!
Only it had nothing to do with nerves.  It had everything to do with
chemicals, especially the ones that make your brain work, but no one knew
that then, and if they did they weren't talking, at least not to us. 

I wanted to go to the movies with my friends.  My very strict parents
disagreed on whether I was old enough to go unchaperoned or not.  Daddy
said, yes.  Mother said, no.  They argued.  Daddy moved me out the door with
a wave of his hands.  Mother kept yelling at his back, but managed a few
black looks thrown my way.  I went off to meet my friends.  I was sure Daddy
would get everything settled, and all would be right with the world when I
got home.  

We lived in Austintown, a small rural suburb, so we went to the movies in
the closest city.  The city of Warren.  The movie, much to my chagrin, was
James Bond.  I hated James Bond and I was bored.  I was so bored I became
unreasonably restless.  It's dangerous when I get bored.  I do all sorts of
crazy things.  I fidget; I shake my foot.or feet; I noticeably turn in my
seat.sort of a wild swing from left to right and then left again.constantly.
I talk to my friends in a very loud voice.  I fuss, I whine, I complain.  I
sigh audibly and breathe deeply and noisily.  Finally, I was able to
convince my friends to leave before they threw us out. My friends vowed
never to go to the movies with me again.  I insisted it was their fault for
choosing such a crappy movie.

Since it wasn't time for Nancy's mother to pick us up yet, we window
shopped.  It was Sunday and none of the stores were open, but the windows
had tons of delightful items to 'oh' and 'ah' about and add to our "when I
get older, I'm going to have" list.  I also saw my first penis that day.  

A rather large black man pretended to shop the windows, too, getting closer
and closer to us.  He wore a long tan coat and a hat pulled low on his face.
Finally, he got close enough to bump one of my friends.   We all turned to
look at him.  I had my mouth open to say something fresh about his
ignorance, and well, there it was.  In all its glory (so to speak). He
grinned widely and flapped it up and down at us.  We screamed appropriately,
and ran straight to the pizza house where you could buy pizza by the slice
and giggled and laughed at what we had just seen.  We didn't think to be
frightened; we just thought the guy was weird.  My friends talked about how
ugly they thought penises were and never wanted one stuck in them.  I held
my silence.  At last Nancy's mother picked us up as we spent our last
quarter for a last slice of pizza.  It had been a great day, penis or not.

As I let myself into the house, I realized that it was dark.  My brothers
and sisters were nowhere to be found.  I thought maybe my baby twin brothers
might be napping upstairs so I was quiet when I came in.  Taking off my
coat, I heard my mother calling my name.  She startled me.  It was a nasty
call.  "Get in here!"  Get in here!" she screamed like a crazy person.
Suddenly I was frightened and I really didn't know why.  Was this still
about me going to the movies with my friends?  Where was my father?

I snuck into the bedroom peeking around the door.

"Get over here."  Her voice was low and guttural.  "You little bitch.  Did
he come to you?"

I was silent.  Did who come to me?

"Your father.  He loves you so god damn much.  How dare you stand between my
husband and me?  Who do you think you are?"

She started crying uncontrollably, screaming at me, telling me he loved me
more than her and that it was my fault.  She came off the bed at me and hit
me...and hit me...and hit me....and hit me....until I slid down the wall and
slumped onto the carpet.  Grabbing my arm with great strength, she pulled me
toward my bedroom, dragging me across the carpet roughly, burning my skin in
the bare places, and finally, throwing me  onto the bed.  She hit me one
good time for good measure.  Slamming the door, she left me.  I could hear
my mother's sobs from my room.  They seemed to last for hours.

I did not cry.  Emotionally, I did not feel anything good or bad.  I was
numb.  I got cold and crawled beneath the covers and waited for my father.